


Prompt Fill: Overworking

by taylor_tut



Category: White Collar
Genre: Fainting, Gen, Overworking, Protective Peter Burke, Sick Character, Sick Neal Caffrey, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-23 23:54:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21089906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: A prompt from my tumblr for Neal overworking himself on a case and forgetting to eat, drink, and sleep.





	Prompt Fill: Overworking

Peter slammed his hand on Neal's desk loudly, intending to wake him from a mid-morning doze but ending up startling him much more than he'd wanted to. 

"Jesus," he muttered, "sorry about that. Didn't mean to startle you."

Neal rubbed his eyes and blinked hard, as if the lights were hurting his eyes. "Sorry," he apologized uncharacteristically, "I'm focused."

"Looked more like you were sleeping," Peter teased. "Big night last night?"

Neal forced a laugh. "You're looking at it," he replied, and that's when Peter noticed that he was wearing the same outfit that he'd been in the day before. 

"You're telling me you've been here overnight?" Neal nodded. 

"I just can't connect the dots on this one. It's... frustrating."

That probably wasn't even thr right word for it, Peter thought. This case had been harder on Neal than most. Some of his old forgeries had come back into circulation, and although Peter reassured him that he wasn't at risk for being prosecuted for them because the statute of limitations was expired, he'd been antsy about it all week because there was really no way to prove their age. If they were back in his hands, he could rest easy knowing they'd go straight into the evidence locker to be used in this case and this case alone. However, if they were resold, it might open doors he'd worked so hard to close.

He didn't know what to say; he rarely did. 

"You could use a cup of coffee, then," Peter settled upon, and Neal looked grateful. 

"Like you wouldn't believe." He looked toward the break room and the fact that he was even considering drinking the shitty drip-coffee in there was enough to convince Peter that he was desperate.

"Well, if you can tear yourself away from that file for a few minutes, I've got a craving for a croissant and I know a place that's got good ones." 

Neal was quiet the rest of the day. The coffee didn't seem to help his energy levels or his mood, and by the time they were supposed to get ready to go undercover for a different, much smaller, almost closed case, Peter hadn't seen him in hours and was almost convinced he'd gone home. He wouldn't blame him, with how exhausted he'd looked earlier, but before he could even start to prepare his speech about the merits of a long, arduous week at work, Neal was standing in front of him looking even worse for wear than he had that morning. It caught him off guard and his eyes widened. 

"You look like hell," he exclaimed before he could bite it back, and Neal rolled his eyes. 

"Thank you," he replied. "Very encouraging thing to say right before I go undercover." 

Peter binked. "Are you sure you can go like this?" he asked. "If you're sick, it's best to wait—"

"Not sick," Neal snapped. "I just want to get back to my folder, so the sooner we knock this out, the better."

Peter put his hands up in a surrendering gesture and took a step back. "Okay, if you're sure," he caved. "The wire is ready. Let's get it on you so we can start testing the audio." 

While Peter taped the wire onto Neal, ensuring that it was hidden well and wouldn't come loose when he moved around or be visible from any angle, Neal poured over the files. It was starting to worry Peter a little. He'd tried to talk him into lunch for the past few days, invited him over for dinner with him and El, but he turned down every invitation with the excuse that he had to work, then came in every morning looking more exhausted than the last.

Before Peter could begin to ask him about his alibis to ensure that he was fit to actually do this today, Neal proved the contrary by tugging at his collar a little too desperately for someone who played it so cool all the time. 

"Wow, did it just get really, uh, hot in here?" he asked, and Peter frowned. 

"I think it's just you. You okay?"

Neal blinked a few times as if he were trying to clear his vision but nodded. "Yeah," he breathed, "just—I think I need some more coffee."

"Maybe some water instead," Peter suggested. "Because your blood stream has to be mostly caffiene by now. I'm cutting you off."

"Gonna take my car keys, too?" Neal teased, but the attempt at a joke was dampened by his pale face and the fact that he wavered on his feet, dangerously enough that Peter instinctively reached out to steady him. 

"Neal, I really think we should wait on this one," he warned. Neal answered by collapsing even further, his knees going weak and leaning his entire weight into Peter. "Woah, hey," Peter startled, easing him to the floor and watching his eyes dance dazedly across the room. Neal had the wherewithal to look embarrassed, which was a good sign, but he concerningly wasn’t shoving Peter’s hands off him.

“Just gimme a minute,” he said breathlessly. 

“Absolutely not,” Peter put his foot down. “You’ve been working yourself ragged for this case file and you just wilted in my office. You honestly think it’s safe to send you out like this? Think of everyone you’d be putting at risk. Use your head, Neal.” When the ‘cowboy up’ attitude elicited a wince rather than its normal whiny response, Peter sighed. “When was the last time you ate or drank?” Neal looked like he was going to reply, but Peter cut him off. “Something other than coffee.” Silence. “How about slept?”

Neal looked exhausted with his guard down. Peter suspected that if Neal would let it down more often, that he could have seen this coming, but that didn’t stop him from feeling guilty about not catching it, anyway. 

“I can do it, Peter,” Neal reassured. “I’ve done more in worse shape.” Peter rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t doubt that, but that’s not the life you’re living anymore. The life you’re living now is one where you come over tonight and have dinner with me and El, then sleep in our guest room until I say you’re rested enough to get your paperwork back.”

Neal pulled a face that Peter could tell meant that he wasn’t happy about it, but that he was too tired to argue. 

“Honestly, a meal and some sleep sounds pretty good right now,” he admitted, rubbing one hand over his face exhaustedly. “God, I’m so tired.” 

Peter was already texting his team and El to let them know the plan—El would be nothing but thrilled about having Neal over and he wasn’t going to take “no” for an answer from the FBI. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” Peter reassured, clasping his shoulder comfortingly but bracingly. He’d make sure of that. 


End file.
